Francine Rivers - Her Daughter’s Dream

She stood and started clearing the table. Mitch helped. He insisted on washing the dishes. She dried and put things away. She thought he would leave then, but he said he’d love a cup of coffee. She apologized for not making a dessert. She’d forgotten. She didn’t even have ice cream or store-bought cookies to offer.

He grinned. “We could always go for a ride on my Harley. There’s a Baskin-Robbins in Walnut Creek.”

She thought of sitting behind him on that powerful bike, her body pressed against his, her arms wrapped around his waist, holding on tight. “I don’t think so.”

She filled two mugs and carried them back into the living room. She asked him more questions about his travels, about the churches he’d visited, the pastors. He laughed. “Oh, there were a few who took one look at my Harley and black leather jacket and tried to bar the door, but for the most part, I felt welcome.” He glanced at the mantel clock. “It’s getting late. I’d better go.”

She stood, amazed at how quickly five hours had passed. Would he think her too forward if she asked him over again? “When do you head back to Healdsburg?”

“Tomorrow morning.”

“Oh.” She felt the prick of tears, the sting of loss. “Well, it’s been wonderful seeing you, Mitch.”

“Thanks for dinner. It’s been a great evening.” Smiling at her, Mitch shrugged into his black leather jacket. “I’m coming back, Carolyn.”

Relieved, she walked him to the door, remembering what he’d said about never getting over her. Even if that had changed, at least she knew she had a friend.

Mitch put his hand on the doorknob, started to turn it, and then let it go. He turned toward her. He looked uncertain. “Would you mind if I did something I’ve been dreaming about for years?”

“What?”

“Kiss you.”

She caught her breath, but didn’t move. He raised his hand tentatively, giving her the opportunity to say no. He cupped her cheek and bent down slowly, still giving her time to decide. She held her breath. When his mouth touched hers, sensation flooded her body. He raised his head and looked into her eyes. “Nice.”

He kissed her again. She stepped close, her hands slipping inside his leather jacket. He let out a soft groan, and his arms came around her, fitting her to him. She didn’t have to wonder if he was affected. Her body went hot.

She didn’t know how long they stood there, bodies straining to get closer, but she didn’t want him to stop.

Finally Mitch put a few inches between them. “Better than any fantasy I’ve ever had.” He gave a hoarse laugh and kissed her below the ear. “Nice to know your heart’s beating as fast as mine.” His breath sent tingles down her spine. When his hands moved over her back, she instinctively arched against him. He set her away from him. “I need to get out of here.” He opened the door this time.

“Mitch…” She didn’t have to say any more.

“If I stay, I won’t stop. And then you’ll wonder. I don’t want you questioning yourself or having any regrets after we’re married.” He went out.

She stepped out onto the porch. “What did you say?”

“You heard me.” He grinned at her as he pulled on his helmet. “I’ll call you tomorrow.” He swung his leg over and kick-started the motorcycle.

He’d already kick-started her heart; it roared more loudly than his Harley.

Mitch called every evening, right after May Flower Dawn had gone to bed. Sometimes they talked until past midnight. He came back every weekend, driving a sedan instead of his Harley so they could include her daughter on Saturday outings. He found activities they all could enjoy: hiking in the hills, a drive into San Francisco to see the Steinhart Aquarium, horseback riding, a baseball game. Carolyn always offered to fix dinner on Friday night, but Mitch said it’d be safer to go to a restaurant. “I have to keep my hands off you in a public place.” He attended church services in Walnut Creek and always invited her. She always refused. She assured him she had her own fellowship to attend. She went to AA meetings every Wednesday night and read the Bible Oma had given her years ago. Sundays were her day of rest, and rest meant staying home and working in the garden while everyone else in her family went to church, including May Flower Dawn.

“Someone really hurt you, didn’t they?”

She shrugged. Why tell him the pastor she’d known all her life said she wasn’t good enough to enter God’s house? Why tell him Thelma Martin was still a deaconess and Rev. Elias still ruled from the pulpit? What right did she have to judge?

When Mitch invited Carolyn and May Flower Dawn to spend a weekend with him in Alexander Valley, Carolyn agreed. Directions in hand, one small suitcase for herself and another for May Flower Dawn, Carolyn drove up.

She had been prepared for a nice ranch house with a vineyard, but gaped when she turned onto his stone paver driveway and saw the Spanish-style mansion at the end. Mitch came out to welcome them. Opening her door, he helped her out, kissed her, and then frowned. “What’s wrong?”

“That.” She pointed.

Dawn stood with her mouth gaping. “Do you live here?”

“Yep. Come on. I’ll show you around.” He took Carolyn’s hand.

Her entire house would fit in his family room. The master suite wasn’t much smaller. He had a formal parlor living room, four bedrooms with private baths, a kitchen a professional chef would envy, and a solarium with French doors opening to a trellised patio that looked out on terraced gardens, a swimming pool, and a gazebo. She spotted two Hispanic gardeners at work, undoubtedly full-time. She gleaned he had four full-time employees working in the vineyard, more in the winery.

“We can take a look at the operation later, if you’d like.”

Carolyn said never mind. She’d already seen enough. He took them back inside the house and asked if Dawn would like to play a video game in the family room. “You have video games!”

Mitch sat with Dawn until she knew how to use the system and play the game, then left her to it. Carolyn stood in the kitchen, taking in the shiny stainless-steel appliances. He touched her arm. “You want a Coke? lemonade?” He gave her a teasing smile. “Well water?”

“Right now, I’d go for an eight-ounce glass of bourbon straight up.” She sank onto a suede stool and looked around at the gorgeous granite counters and custom-built cherrywood cabinets, the Mexican tile floor.

“I told you I did well with investments, Carolyn.”

“Slight understatement, I’d say. Are you sure you don’t have a wife and twelve children hiding somewhere? The place is big enough.”

“Only four bedrooms.”

Not counting the maid’s quarters, complete with kitchen and living room. She didn’t know what to say.

He smiled at her as he put a tall glass of iced lemonade in front of her. “I want a family. I tend to plan ahead. I’ve only ever wanted one wife. You.” His eyes warmed. “We’re going to make beautiful babies together and have fun doing it.”

Fighting down the heat he roused in her so easily, she shook her head. “I don’t know, Mitch. I don’t have your confidence.”

“Yes, you do.” He came around the counter, turned her on the stool, and cupped her face. “You knew before I brought you up here.” He kissed her firmly. “I’m not letting you chicken out.”

1978

They’d been talking to one another every night and seeing one another every weekend for six months. Finally, one evening in May, Mitch told Dawn over dinner that he wanted to marry her mother. “How do you feel about that?”

“Does she want to marry you?”